Second Chances
by sandyfin
Summary: Because there's more to that story Jamie shared at family dinner.


"Officers! Officers, oh thank God - you have to hurry!"

Jamie gives Eddie a meaningful sideways glance, which she mirrors in silent wide-eyed acknowledgment as they walk up to the front porch. Having seen their cruiser pull up from inside the house, their 911 caller - a short woman wearing too much makeup and no coat - has rushed out the front door and she flies down the steps to meet them halfway.

"Ma'am - ma'am," Eddie says, her voice that mixture of stern and calming that Jamie's never quite mastered like she has. "Can you tell me what's going on? Are you in danger?"

"Yes!" She cries hysterically. "My son - he's - he's selling drugs. You've got to come see!"

"Are you in _immediate_ danger?" Jamie says. "Is there anyone else in the house? Anyone who could hurt you? Or us?"

"I - no - I'm home alone. But-"

"Okay. Alright," Eddie says. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Wendy. Wendy Crane. You've got to come see - all over his room, it's everywhere!"

"Okay, Mrs. Crane. I'm Officer Reagan and this is my partner Officer Janko. Why don't you show us?"

"Come on."

Jamie and Eddie exchange another glance, this one full intrigue as they follow Mrs. Crane into her house.

"It's up here - oh, but take your shoes off, hm? Don't need any dirt tracked on the carpet…"

This time when Jamie catches Eddie's gaze he can't hold back a smirk at the way her shoulders hunch with a barely-restrained choke of a laugh. Something about this small woman is just absurd.

"Sorry, Mrs. Crane, we can't do that but we'll be careful," he says to the woman's back. She's already hurrying up the stairs in such a rush that she doesn't seem to hear him. Jamie shrugs at Eddie and holds out an _after you_ hand toward the stairs.

"It's in here," Mrs. Crane says. "It's - it's _marijuana_. He's a drug dealer!"

Following her voice, Eddie leads the way through the open bedroom doorway. The room is a disgusting contrast to the neatness of the living room downstairs - clothes everywhere, dirty dishes stacked on the nightstand, and a smell that Jamie decides is like musty body odor mixed with...rosemary?

"Right _there_ ," Mrs. Crane says, pointing with a straight outstretched arm while she backs against the opposite wall like she's scared to get any closer. "On the bed. There's the bag of drugs. Marijuana, I'm telling you!"

Eddie snaps on a pair of nitrile gloves and steps over a pile of dirty sweats to get to the double bed in the corner. It's unmade, with a Ziploc bag of something green nicely balanced on top of the balled up comforter.

"How long has this been going on?" Jamie asks.

"I don't know," the woman whimpers, shaky and uneven. "But I think it's been-"

"Jamie," Eddie interrupts. Struggling to contain a smirk, she holds up the open bag - it's a gallon size, about half full - and even from across the small bedroom he picks up on an overwhelming aroma that's definitely not pot.

"Ma'am-" he starts, sternly.

"I - I -"

The tears come quickly and without warning - the woman has seemed upset this entire time but the last thing Jamie expected was for her to burst into a hysterical crying fit. He's closer so his hand lands on her arm, both to comfort her and steady her because she looks like she might tip over. He steers her backwards until her legs hit the clothing-covered desk chair and she drops onto it, hunching over to rest her head in her hands as she gasps for air.

Eddie's eyes widen. "Mrs. Crane-"

"Ma'am, are you alright?"

Mrs. Crane can't answer through her choked sobs and Jamie offers a helpless look in Eddie's direction as his hand rubs pointless circles on the woman's back.

"Mrs. Crane, let me get you some water," Eddie says loudly. She slaps Jamie on the back a couple times when she passes on her way out of the room.

He's not sure how much time goes by before Eddie gets back but if he had to guess, he'd say something around fifty or sixty years. All he can do is hand Mrs. Crane tissue after tissue from the box he found on top of the pile of dirty bowls on the nightstand. She tries to dab daintily but there's no stopping the tracks of watery mascara down her face.

"Okay, Mrs. Crane, why don't you take some sips of water and try to take deep breaths," Eddie says.

Jamie is happy to back off as she takes his spot crouched next to the bawling woman. He resumes his tissue dispensing duties from an arm's length away while Eddie encourages Mrs. Crane to breathe and drink and calm down. It takes another small eternity but finally she starts to manage smoother breaths as her body-wracking sobs dwindle to trembling whimpers.

"Let's get out of this room, alright? Is there anywhere else we can sit that - maybe - smells a little better?" Eddie asks gently.

"Y - y - yes," Mrs. Crane manages. "The - the g - guest room is clean…"

"Okay. Alright. Let's go in there and we'll get everything sorted out. That's it, deep breaths, come on now."

"I - I love him," Mrs. Crane stutters. "But - but-"

"I know, I know," Jamie soothes.

Mrs. Crane looks up at them with watery, swollen eyes before she slowly, shakily pulls herself out of the chair. Jamie closes a gentle hand around her elbow for support as she shuffles out of the room.

She takes one last tissue to the corners of her eyes. Jamie would offer to let her compose herself in the bathroom but she settles in the petite upholstered chair in the corner of the guest bedroom and she looks ready to talk, so he and Eddie perch on the edge of the coordinating quilt to listen.

"I love him - my son," she hiccups. "I really do, I love him."

"Mhmm," Eddie hums.

"But I just - I need him out of my house!"

"I'm sorry?" Jamie says.

"It's like a life sentence. I mean - you saw his room - and I told him - I told him to clean it yesterday but that's still what it-"

She looks like she's about to cry again so Jamie quickly interrupts. "Well, that's pretty normal, Mrs. Crane. Plenty of kids don't clean their rooms."

"And I just really need a break-"

"Of course," Eddie says. "Everyone needs a break every so-"

"So I called you and said he was selling drugs - but - but - it's not drugs, it's just - it's just-"

The sudden slam of the front door startles her out of her frenzied speech and she freezes, mouth open in shock. Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs and Jamie's hand instinctively goes to his weapon while he stands and holds out his other arm to keep Mrs. Crane in place.

"Mom! Mom, what's going on? Are you okay? Mom - what the hell?"

The owner of the voice fills the doorway - he's tall and chubby, wearing basketball shorts, a Mets t-shirt, and a backwards baseball cap in addition to solid black sneakers with white crew socks. He has a few days' worth of stubble on his face and a grease-stained bag of McDonalds food in his hand. Jamie tries not to let his jaw drop as he realizes that this man - at least his own age, if not a few years older - is the occupant of the teenager's bedroom down the hall.

"I'm Officer Reagan," Jamie says. "Your mom called us here today. Everything's fine, we're just sorting things out."

"What'd you call the cops for?" The son says, leaning around Jamie to talk to his mother. "What's going on?"

"I told them - I didn't mean to - I just said-"

"Oh my god! Did you call the cops on me again? What the fu-"

"What else am I supposed to do, Matthew? You won't listen to me - I don't ask for much, but apparently it's too much for you to clean up after yourself-"

"I'm a grown man! I don't have to-"

"You're not a grown man as long as you're living in my house eating my food!"

"So's that what you told them this time, huh? That I'm _stealing_ from you?"

"Alright, hey man, that's enough." Jamie plants his hands on Matthew's chest to keep him from advancing any closer to his mother. She is standing now too, leaning around Eddie to see what's happening. She's crying again.

"Get your hands off me." Matthew tries to evade Jamie, backing up and snapping one arm over Jamie's to move around him.

Jamie quickly blocks the larger man once again. "Come on, Matthew. Let's get out of here and you can tell me your side of the story."

"But I-" Mrs. Crane manages.

"You and I will stay in here and chat," Eddie tells her. "Sit back down and relax, okay? We're going to get everything sorted out."

Jamie pauses in the doorway where he's herding Matthew out of the room. "You good, partner?"

"Yeah. You okay with him on your own?"

"Yep. You're gonna behave yourself, right, Matthew?"

Matthew scowls but heads for the stairs without any more direction from Jamie. Eddie meets his gaze once more with eyebrows raised before Jamie nods at her and follows towards the front door.

"So. You wanna tell me what just happened in there?" Jamie says when they reach the porch.

"Nothing happened. My mom overreacts to tiny shit but it's not a crime to forget to take the trash out."

"But it is a crime to sell marijuana, and that's what your mom told the dispatcher you were doing."

"She said what? Crazy bitch, I'm gonna-"

"Hey. Hey! None of that. Sit down." Jamie catches Matthew again as he goes for the door, and then spins him and pushes him to the rocking chair at the other end of the porch. "You're not in trouble - we know you're not selling weed. But you're gonna be if you go back inside and do something stupid."

"You know I'm not selling weed?"

"Yeah, we know. Your mom had a bag of spices on your bed that she tried to pass off. You don't seem-"

"She did? What the hell, I don't believe-"

Jamie holds up one hand and it's all Matthew needs to remember he's not supposed to get up. "But what I wanna know," he says, "is why your own mother just tried to frame you for possession with intent to sell, just to get you out of her house."

"I don't know, because she's crazy, I told you!"

"She's crazy, huh? You're the one still living in your childhood bedroom fifteen years after most kids move out on their own."

"What am I supposed to do? I work twenty hours a week at a deli."

"Have you ever looked for another job?"

"I have a theater arts degree. You wanna find me a job? There's a million actors in this city."

"So… take on another job. Work full time, even if it's minimum wage. Or - go to auditions, keep yourself busy, out of the house."

"It's not that easy!"

"Well, you know what _is_ easy?"

"What?" Matthew snaps, spit flying.

"Being a decent human being to your mom. She lets you live here - least you can do is clean up after yourself and do the dishes every once in a while."

Matthew rolls his eyes and sighs as if he's never heard a worse suggestion. "She's got insane standards, you don't-"

"It doesn't take someone with insane standards to see that bedroom of yours is a pigsty."

"God, now you sound like her. You know what? This is stupid. Am I under arrest?"

"No, not at all."

"Alright then, I'm leaving. Tell my mom I won't be back for dinner." Standing, Matthew brushes past Jamie and stomps loudly down the porch steps, digging car keys out of his pocket before he jumps into his old Toyota Camry, slams the door, and speeds away.

When Jamie is sure he's gone, he heads back inside. He finds Eddie sitting uneasily on the edge of a floral couch in the living room, awkwardly stiff as if she's afraid she'll break something if she breathes too hard.

"How's Mrs. Crane?"

"She's alright. She's in the bathroom taking off her makeup. Looks like Matthew isn't happy."

"Yeah." Jamie exhales a small laugh. "Guy was offended that I suggested he be nice to his mom. Like it'll kill him to put his clothes away once in a while."

"Well, his mom is..."

Eddie's voice trails off as Mrs. Crane appears at the top of the stairs. She descends slowly, clinging to the railing like she's never been more exhausted. The streaky makeup is gone, leaving behind only a little bit of black smudge around her puffy pink eyes.

Eddie stands. "Is everything okay, Mrs. Crane?"

"Yes, yes, it'll all be fine," the woman says.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"Oh, no, I think I'm alright. Thank you for not…"

"Just don't do it again," Eddie tells her. "But if your son ever threatens you, or does anything serious - _actually_ serious - then you call right away. Got it?"

"Yes."

They shake hands and say goodbye and a minute later they're settling back into their RMP as Mrs. Crane goes to put her Italian seasoning away.

"How'd you get her to calm down?" Jamie wonders.

"Told her it's illegal to make false calls and plant evidence to frame your own kid. She was so relieved we didn't arrest her that she decided maybe Matthew isn't so bad to live with after all."

"Well, still, I hope he shapes up. I mean, no wonder the mom's pissed - if I let my room get that bad when I was a teenager…"

"Like you ever had one item out of place," Eddie scoffs. "My room really was messy."

" _Was_? I've been to your place, Eddie. You haven't exactly outgrown that."

"So I have clutter," she says. "It's not like I'm filthy with dirty dishes and piles of smelly underwear in my bedroom."

"True, you're not _that_ bad."

"Aw, thanks." Eddie flicks a smirking eyebrow at him and then keys her mike to let Central know they're clear of their call.

* * *

By end of tour, most of the precinct has heard about the mom who tried to get her son arrested for possession of a pound of Italian seasoning. That, combined with the fact that the son in question is thirty-seven, has everybody talking and speculating and satirizing, and there's no way Eddie and Jamie could get out of drinks after tour even if they wanted to.

"And then this guy - this huge guy, probably six inches taller than me - he's about to go for his mom. He's going to beat up his own mother-"

"No he wasn't!" Eddie insists, cutting Jamie off with her free hand as she takes a sip of her beer. "He was not about to beat up his mom - he was just yelling at her."

"Right, because yelling at your mom is totally okay."

Eddie rolls her eyes at him. "So Reagan has to like, _shove_ him down the stairs to get him out of the house-"

"I did not!"

"-and I'm trying to get this lady to talk to me, you know, tell me what the hell she was thinking that it's a good idea to frame her son for a crime because his room could use a little air freshener," Eddie continues.

"His room didn't _just_ need some air freshener," Jamie cuts in. "It was gross."

"Would you shut up and let me tell the story?" Eddie cries through a good-natured giggle that's probably louder than she intends, but it's at least their third time through this story in as many rounds and she's having fun embellishing. "So. His room was gross. Whatever. But this mom just starts going off about how she's getting old, she wants to retire and her son should be the one taking care of her, not the other way around."

"And I'm outside listening to this kid bitch and moan about how his mom wants him to take out the trash every once in a while that makes her some kind of drill sergeant," Jamie adds. "I mean - this guy looks like an overgrown eighth grader. Thinks he's cool with his hat on backwards-"

"I hope he didn't think he was cool. Did you see his shoes? Total old man shoes. You know, those chunky black New Balances - slap some Velcro on there and he could take himself down to the adult day center for some Bingo before the 4:30 dinner buffet."

"What?" Jamie drawls. "I have New Balances."

"Yeah, I know," Eddie smirks. "Anyway, this poor mom is totally at the end of her rope. She has to be, right? To try and set up her own kid, get him arrested just to get him out of the house…"

"I'd do it if my kid still lives with me when she's forty," Kara Walsh says.

"Just don't let her major in theater and you'll be fine."

"Hey, I minored in theater!" Patrick Wilson calls out.

"What, do you moonlight in _Frozen: The Musical_ on your nights off?" someone else teases.

"Yeah, you play the giant ice monster right?" Jamie says. "That's Wilson in there, throwing Elsa over the cliff-"

"He throws Anna over the cliff, dumbass," Eddie giggles. "Elsa made him. He wouldn't go against her."

"Hey, that lady made her son and we saw how that turned out."

"Whatever," Jamie mutters, recoiling and trying not to laugh as Eddie's elbow finds his ribs.

"Hey - I gotta call it a night," Eddie announces.

"You good for one more, Reagan?"

"Nah, I should get going too."

There's a chorus of protests as Eddie, Jamie and one other officer make their way out of the bar. The third cop heads off up the block while Jamie waits to make sure Eddie gets a cab.

"It is kinda sad, you know," she muses. "A kid taking advantage of his mom like that - a mom feeling so helpless she's gotta make up a reason to call the cops...I hope they work it out."

"Yeah, it sucks," Jamie agrees. "But I don't see that son shaping up at all. He was kind of a piece of shit."

"Come on, don't say that."

"Calling it how I see it."

"You don't believe in second chances?"

"Second chances? Sure. Fourth, fifth, sixth chances? Not so much."

Eddie offers an exasperated sigh. "Come on."

"Something's really gotta change for those people," he says, managing to flag down a cab while Eddie is distracted warming her hands with her breath. "That's all I'm saying."

"Oh. Thanks," Eddie says. "You riding with me or…?"

"Nah, I'll take the subway."

"Oh. Alright. Goodnight then. See you tomorrow."

"Yep, bright and early."

"Don't remind me."

Jamie chuckles and grips the cab door to shut it now that she's inside. "Sorry. Night, partner."


End file.
